Free The Black Stallion and the Girl by Walter Farley Page B

hadn’t done much except to get a lot of publicity.
    Glancing at the paper, Alec learned that Becky Moore was riding in the first race. He quickened his pace. Weather clear, track fast and a girl riding against men! No wonder there was such a large crowd, with everyone scurrying to reach his seat before post time.
    Walking across the lower lobby, Alec found himself comparing Becky Moore with Pam. Both loved horses but they were at the opposite ends of the pole in every other way. He’d known Becky for the two years she’d been working around the track. She was shy and modest almost to the point of embarrassment. None of the men ever got mad at Becky; in fact, no one had really thought of her as a girl until she’d applied for her jockey’s license and was racing.
    That was the way Becky had wanted it, Alec decided. Quietly, unobtrusively she had worked her way through the ranks until one afternoon she appeared on a race horse as a girl jockey. It had been as simple as that, but very well planned and executed. No friction between male and female, no problems, no outspokenness. She’d been there and yet not there, all the while very ambitious, knowing where she was going and having her sights set on big-time racing.
    Everything Pam stood for was not for Becky. While Pam concealed nothing about herself or her motives, Becky by her shyness and gentleness concealed a hardness that would be fierce in open competition andcatch most male jockeys unprepared. Becky would do all right today and any other day, Alec decided.
    Arriving at a closed door on the far side of the lobby, Alec showed his horseman’s pass to a track policeman and went inside.
    Within the confines of the vast grandstand it was quiet, almost peaceful, compared to the commotion that was going on in the four tiers of stands overhead. Alec walked down a long corridor, passing rooms and offices and not stopping until he reached the Jockeys’ Room. Since he wasn’t racing, he wasn’t allowed inside, but he stood in the open doorway.
    “Hey, Alec,” one rider called to him. “We’ve got a girl-driver on our hands today.”
    “So I’ve heard.”
    “Becky’s no girl,” another said. “She’s a tomboy. Did ya ever see her in a dress?”
    “No, but she’s still a girl, and she rides like a girl,” the first jockey answered. “Got good hands but no arms. All she can do is sit there and steer. Isn’t that right, Alec?”
    “Steering a horse is pretty important,” Alec said.
    “Yeah, but it takes arm strength to handle a horse in tight quarters.”
    “And let’s see her con a horse to run when he doesn’t want to run,” another rider said.
    “When the day comes I can’t ride better than a girl, I’ll quit,” the first jockey said.
    “Me too,” a veteran agreed. “I’ve been ridin’ fifteen years and I learn something new every day, so what do I have to worry about a girl for? Don’t get me wrong,” he added. “I like Becky. Everybody likes Becky.”
    “If everybody likes Becky,” another rider quipped, “what’s she afraid of? Why does she have the big dog in her car? A signal from her and he’d eat you alive.”
    “She may be a tomboy, but she’s still a girl,” someone said. “She must feel safer having him around.”
    “Anyway,” the first jockey said, turning back to Alec, “these girl jocks aren’t for real. Right, Alec? They’re just a box office attraction, a bonanza. It won’t last. Sooner or later the novelty of seeing girl jocks on the card will wear off and that will be the last of them.”
    “It could be,” Alec said.
    “Meanwhile, God bless them and keep them safe,” someone in the back said.
    “And us too,” another said. “Women drivers make me nervous. They cause pileups.”
    Alec continued down the corridor, heading for the elevator that would take him to the press section, where he knew he’d find Henry. It afforded the best view of the track and the trainer always watched the races from